The Many Moods of Jim Moriarty
by Yeah.I'm.Awful
Summary: Better summary in the first chapter. This is a Mormor character study that's pretty much a collection of oneshots. They are funny, sad, adorable, creepy, and even cracky. Warnings at the beginning of each chapter. Cover art by weaslee (deviantArt)
1. Intro

**A/N~ Okay, so this is a serial fic I've had rolling around in my noggin for some time. Each chapter will have its own warnings and can be read as a oneshot. They're in no particular order, just the order I wanted to write them.**

**It's really something of a character study, but when I get an idea it kinda just sticks. It's going to be 20 chapters total, not including this one, which is more of a summary than actual writing.**

**Anyway, this is my Mormor (which if my faithful readers hadn't guessed yet is absolutely my OTP and oh my God I can't stop) and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!**

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Jim Moriarty only has five moods; Happy, Depressed, Mischievous, Angry, Vacant.

Each of these moods has two states; Bored, Excited.

Each of these mood-states is met with a marker; Safe, Dangerous.

Happiness is nice. It's soft and cuddly. All warmth and no fang.

Depression is frightening, quiet, and unsure.

Mischief can be incredibly exciting while simultaneously being unbelievably annoying.

Anger is Jim's stress relief, and is often destructive.

Vacancy makes Jim disappear. His body stays, but his mind is gone.

Sebastian has lived through all of these (though sometimes he got a nice hospital stay), and he can identify how his boss was feeling from the tiniest details about him. But he can never predict what the mood-swings might bring, or how long they will last. All he can do is hold on tight and hope the two of them make it out alive.


	2. Mischievous, Bored, Safe

**Warnings: This chapter contains sexual references, foul language, and a childish consulting criminal. Do not proceed if any of that offends you (but really, what are you doing reading Mormor if it does?).**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing Sherlock related except a pin I bought at a convention once.**

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Mischievous, Bored, Safe

"Sebby~!"

The call came from the bedroom, but Sebastian gave it no recognition.

"_Sey-Bas-Chun_!" This one was more of a whine.

Sebastian set down the Browning L9A1 handgun he had just finished cleaning, closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. He hoped whatever his boss had planned wouldn't take to long. He had work to do, and he was already tired.

By the time he allowed his eyes to open, Jim had materialized in front of him, separated by the gun-covered table. His face would have looked disappointed and angry to anyone else, but Seb recognized the pouty look of a child who wasn't allowed dessert.

"I was calling for you," Jim said, as if this would come as a surprise to the sniper.

Sebastian broke eye-contact and picked up another gun. "I'm busy, Boss," he stated simply.

Jim let out a frustrated sigh. "But, I want you back in bed!" Sebastian gave him a brief glance that declared "too bad, I don't give a damn what you want, you silly child." Jim gave another huff.

From the corner of his eye, Sebastian noticed Jim's slight change in posture; His shoulders relaxed, his arms went behind his back innocently, his hips swayed as his weight fell on one leg, and his head cocked down to one side. He looked the picture of sweetness, a piece of candy in a Westwood wrapper. Sebastian allowed himself a full look and noted that the soft appearance didn't extend to his eyes. There, Sebastian could see a glint of something he already didn't like.

"You know," Jim said, voice soft, circling around the table to Seb's spot on the sofa. "I could get you into bed if I wanted."

Sebastian returned his attention to the gun and cleaning rag in his hand. "Sure you could, Boss," he said, nodding. Jim made a scowl that went unnoticed. He sat down next to Sebastian, his legs draped over the sniper's lap. His head was propped up by the arm of the sofa so he could continue to examine Sebastian's expression.

After being ignored for a little while longer,the impatient Irishman grabbed a gun off of the coffee table.

"Put it back, Jim. I've just cleaned that," Sebastian warned.

"Are you worried for my safety, darling?" Jim asked sweetly.

"No. I just happen to know you have a history of dismantling things, and I'd like to spare my weapons the experience. Anyway, it's not loaded," Sebastian retorted. He heard the safety click off and the slide lock back. Suddenly, there was a deafening bang from right behind him. Across the room, a lamp flew into thousands of pieces.

"Liar," Jim concluded slyly, blowing on the end of the weapon.

"Jim, what the actual fuck!?"

When he received no response he looked over to Jim's face. The smaller man had brought the pistol up to his mouth and was licking it obscenely. "You twat," Sebastian said angrily, though it lost some credence with the quiet gasp that accompanied it. He found he couldn't take his eyes off of his employer. "That's bloody disgusting. Now I have to clean it again. God knows where your mouth's been." Jim kept his gaze fixed on the ranting man and continued to slide his tongue over the barrel of the gun. He went all the way from the grip to the mouth and back down.

Finally he brought the damp metal away from his mouth and tossed it back to the table. "_You_ know where my mouth's been. Does that make you God?" Jim asked naively. Sebastian gave a peeved snort. Jim's button pushing skills were really quite advanced.

Jim wrapped his arms around Seb's neck so he could pull into a sitting position on the assassin's lap. "What's wrong, Sebby?" Jim said with a smirk. "If your," he ground a little onto Sebastian's lap, "_physical_ state is any indication, I'd say you're rather enjoying this." Sebastian let out a low growl, almost too deep to hear. Almost. Jim positioned his face right against Sebastian's, his mouth brushing Seb's ear. "Do you want to play now, _Tiger?_"

Sebastian finally gave in. He stood up, keeping a tight grip on Jim so that he was carrying him bridal style. As he walked to the bedroom, Sebastian examined his boss's victorious grin. "You're a royal bastard, Jim. You know that, don't you?"

"Mmm, darling. You wouldn't love me if I wasn't."

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**I regret nothing! **

**See you next post. *Salute***

**R&R!**


	3. Angry, Excited, Dangerous

**Warnings: Pretty extreme violence, language, an author who is sorry for his treatment of these characters**

**Disclaimer: Jim and Seb aren't mine. They will never be mine, and I have to accept that *tears***

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Angry, Excited, Dangerous**  
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"Alright, kids. We'll pick this up tomorrow. Class dismissed." Jim smiled as the bored secondary school students shuffled out of the room. A few girls stopped at his desk on their way out.

"It was so cool that you could sub in today, Mr. Moran," one of the vapid teenagers sighed. Jim flashed her a stunning grin.

Watching all this through his scope, Sebastian made a gagging noise. The cutting-edge microphone hidden in Jim's tweed pocket was transmitting every nauseating second of this performance into Sebastian's ear. He didn't like this plan. He didn't like his name being used for Jim's alias, he didn't like having to watch an entire day of boring classes, and he didn't like all of these obnoxious teens hitting on Jim. He wasn't even sure about all the details of the job. Just that a kidnapping would eventually occur and Jim needed the protection of his sniper if anything went bad. Or rather, Professor James Moran, the fun and charming substitute teacher, needed protection. Sebastian was ordered to remain on a roof adjacent to the school until Jim was ready.

Back in the classroom, one of the girls was twirling her hair while she shuffled her weight from leg to leg. She was telling some boring story about her dog that made Sebastian suicidal with its insipidity. Jim, however, seemed entirely enraptured by it. He was leaning against a large oak desk with one arm across his chest and the other hand pressed to his lips. Every so often he would nod sagely or say some wholly insignificant comment like, "Oh, I see," or "Really? That's fascinating."

Finally after a few more minutes of dull stories, the girls finally left. Sebastian let out a harsh breath of extreme relief. "Thank fuck," he muttered to his gun. It wasn't unusual for Seb to confide to Bor rifle, which he had affectionately dubbed Alex. They had gotten rather close over years.

Sebastian watched Jim stuff papers into his brown leather messenger bag. He looked to where he knew Sebastian was watching from, and Seb had the eerie feeling that his boss could actually see him.

"Moran, I would like for you to meet me by the front door of this building immediately," Jim said for the microphones. Sebastian marveled at how easily the psychopath could switch from the gregarious professor to a no-nonsense mastermind in a second. It was a talent that frightened the sniper a little. He wondered which Jim was real, or eve if there was _anything_ absolute about the man.

Sebastian disconnected his ear piece, packed up Alex and climbed off of the building. As ordered, he waited for Jim by the front door of the school building. He smiled pleasantly enough at all the passing children, but knew he probably looked a bit leer-ish. It was hard for a man with so many scars to blend into a crowd of kids. Toss in the suspicious case he had slung on his back and Seb was surprised no one had alerted the police. Thank God no one could see the handgun in his pocket.

After about twenty minutes of awkward loitering, Sebastian was mentally cursing his boss. Instructions be damned, Seb made up his mind to enter the building. He marched to Jim's classroom ready to yell about whatever trivial thing he was doing.

As soon as he rounded the corner into the room, he knew something had gone wrong. His skills of observation were still lacking to some degree, but he could see the obvious signs of a struggle. There were a few scattered papers and a some scuffs on the floor. Sebastian's time in the military had grated him the ability to sense danger, and the air in the room was saturated with a recent fight.

Immediately, Sebastian's soldier mode kicked in. His muscles tensed and he examined the scene. The scuffs made a path from the door of the room to a large supply closet. Sebastian pulled out his Beretta 92, attached a suppressor, and readied a straight-armed stance. He stopped in front of the door to the closet, set down his rifle case, and steadied his breath, ready for anything.

And then he kicked in the door.

Everything happened quickly. Sebastian's sharp eyes surveyed the scene in a split second. Jim was tied to a metal chair in the middle of the small room. His uncharacteristically colorful tie was knotted as a blindfold across his eyes and orange duct tape covered his mouth. Some sort of wires held him to the chair. A sinister looking man had a short knife pressed to Jim's throat, and a thin line of blood had already welled up.

It took Sebastian no time at all to place a bullet directly between the eyes of Jim's attacker. Jim didn't even flinch, though he received a little blood splatter on the shoulder of his coat and Sebastian wondered if he would be in trouble for causing a mess. The recently deceased man crumpled to the floor, his knife slipping out of his fingers and clattering against the tiles.

Sebastian rushed to Jim's side and tore the duct tape off of his face. He didn't worry about doing it carefully; Jim could handle pain. For this reason, Sebastian also didn't worry about the drying blood stained across Jim's throat. He circled around behind the chair, stepping over the bleeding corpse, and pulled off the blindfold. Then he set in working on the cords around Jim's wrists.

When he came to the front of the chair, Sebastian saw Jim's eyes for the first time since entering the room. There was no mistaking the blinding fury there. It was so intense that for a moment Sebastian's heart stopped.

"Sir?" Sebastian asked quietly, remembering that they were meant to be in professional mode. Jim held his gaze. "Sir, did I do something wrong?"

"What were your instructions, Moran?" Jim inquired dangerously.

"To protect you, sir."

"I seem to recall telling you to stay outside," Jim seethed. He stood up from the chair. Despite the six-inch height disparity to Sebastian's advantage, the assassin suddenly felt extremely small. He forced himself to nod bravely.

"Yes, but I suspected danger. Correctly, it would seem." He gestured to the body on the ground.

"Did I give you the codeword?"

"Sir, you were gagged! What was I supposed to do?"

"I forget sometimes how entirely unintelligent you are," the consulting criminal growled. "I mentioned a kidnapping, did I not?"

Everything suddenly clicked into place for Sebastian. "You meant to be captured."

"Oh, congratulations!" Jim snapped sarcastically. "You've finally caught up! Do you realize that you've completely fucked up everything?" Jim's voice rose to a shout. Sebastian hoped no one else was in the building. "I gave you a direct order, Moran! And you not only disobeyed, but destroyed all of my plans!" Sebastian resisted the urge to cringe. It would only spur on the sadistic man.

Jim stormed out of the cramped closet to pace and Sebastian knew the panic was setting in. Jim's anger was always accompanied by an anxiety attack. He suddenly turned to face Sebastian, his voice becoming a dangerous whisper. "You're going to fix this." Sebastian wasn't sure if he meant the job or the anger.

Jim swept back in to the closet and stood over the dead kidnapper. He stared condescendingly at the cadaver, as if it was somehow his fault. "You will clean this up, Moran. You will erase any trace of our presence. You will stop any investigations into this man's disappearance." Jim looked back up into Sebastian's eyes. "But first, you will sit." He pointed to the metal chair.

Sebastian didn't hesitate for a second. This wasn't a "it's already so bad, it can't get any worse" situation. It was more of a "it's already so bad, and if you continue to dick around you will die a death so painful and horrible that you won't even notice you're dying until the Devil greets you and wishes his condolences" type of thing.

As soon as Sebastian was seated he could see Jim's panic dissipate. The level of tranquility that flooded Jim's features was a clear sign of the pain Sebastian was going to experience. It meant his boss had a plan that satisfied both his need for revenge and his sadistic urges. "Hand over your gun," Jim ordered. Sebastian quickly passed the pistol to his boss. He heard it being placed on one of the shelves behind him.

The sniper was still trying to deduce what might be in store for him when Jim picked up the knife lying next to Sebastian's mistake. He held the blade in front of his face, examining the metal. "Colonel," Jim sighed, his voice full of malice. "I just want to make sure that you know that what I am about to do didn't have to happen. You could have simply followed my orders like I pay you to. I'll make sure you remember that for next time." Amazingly, Sebastian found comfort in the promise of a "next time." It gave him the guarantee that Jim wouldn't kill him for his indiscretion. He didn't think he would, but anything was possible with James Moriarty.

After his speech, Jim walked behind the chair and placed his hands on Sebastian's shoulders. "I wouldn't move if I were you," he warned. Sebastian fought the urge to run and instead clutched tightly to the edge of his seat. He felt the dig of the blade on top of his spine through the fabric of his black nylon shirt. The pressure increased and the sound of tearing fabric crackled through the air. Sebastian knew Jim was being careful not to cut him yet. He wondered what masterpiece his boss was planning.

Jim pried the slit he had made in Sebastian's shirt open and pushed down the shoulders leaving the sniper's back exposed. Sebastian kept his silence, but privately mourned his shirt. The tip of the knife brushed across his skin as Jim mapped his path. Sebastian wished he would start. The torture of wondering how bad the final cuts would be was eating at him. He hoped stitches would be unnecessary.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Sebastian felt the first bite of steel on his shoulder blade. He hissed a little and his back involuntarily seized up. Immediately the knife stabbed in an inch deeper. "You have lost the right to feel pain, Moran," Jim growled. Sebastian considered the absurdity of this statement but straightened up anyway. Jim drew the knife out a little and continued to slice.

As distracting as the pain might have been, it was the trickle of blood down his back that sent his nerves itching. His skin felt like it was crawling and it took more willpower than Sebastian had ever used to stop his muscles from contracting.

Thankfully, the flow from his wounds increased and eventually the tickle turned into a warm wash. Sebastian tried to track what was being carved into him, but Jim's cuts were quick and precise. He would only be allowed to examine the extent of Jim's handiwork when he was given permission, and Sebastian's boss was still far too upset to give any indication of a final product.

After a few silent minutes – save for the soft, wet sound of blade through blood – the knife fell away from Sebastian's skin. Sebastian heard Jim's footsteps as the smaller man stepped back to appraise his work. "It's nice," he commented, as if at a demure wine tasting. The clink of metal on tile sang out again in the small room. Sebastian's eyes followed Jim as he walked smoothly out of the supply closet as if suddenly unaware of his wounded employee's presence. "I have blood on my teaching coat," he muttered absent mindedly. "And I've lost my tie. It was expensive. Though I suppose it was dreadful. I have so much more planning to do and I –" he faded out as he escaped the building, leaving Sebastian still bleeding in the chair.

Sebastian finally allowed a heavy breath to escape him. He had a high pain tolerance, but Jim knew exactly how to make a shallow cut feel like an amputation. The muscles spanning across his back felt weak, and his entire core was wracked with heavy shivers. He spent a few minutes collecting himself before he felt comfortable enough to stand. He immediately felt dizzy and wondered how much blood he had lost. Probably not too much. Jim wanted to hurt him, but having Sebastian die would have been completely counterproductive.

Sebastian pulled the tatters of his shirt back over his shoulders and winced at the feeling of cloth on his open gashes. Sluggishly, he set to work cleaning the scene, taking frequent breaks to steady himself. He called in some lower employees of Jim's to take out the body, but he decided to keep the knife as a reminder of Jim's wrath.

When the group of what Jim affectionately called his "dispensable henchmen" arrived, Sebastian left them to finish up. If any of them noticed the torn shirt or bloody gashes, they didn't say anything. A wise career move.

He grabbed his gun off of a high shelf (taking a minute to wonder how Jim could have possibly reached that high) and slipped out of the room. His faithful Alex was leaning up against a wall in the classroom. Sebastian scooped it up, but dared not let it hang from his abused shoulders. The light outside of the school building stung Sebastian's eyes, but he appreciated the distraction from his back. His driver was waiting for him on the road and Sebastian was incredibly thankful to be going home.

Finally back in his own flat, Sebastian tossed all of his things to the floor by his front door. "Sorry, Alex darling," he grumbled. He pulled off his torn shirt and threw it by his feet. He half-jumped through his living room, trying to remove his trousers, and finally dropped his shoes in his bedroom. By the time he made it to his bathroom, he had finished shedding his clothing. It took him seconds to find the right water temperature for his shower, and he stepped in as quick as he could. The sting of the water against his lacerations was close to unbearable, and for a second Sebastian needed to steady himself against the tiled wall. The water swirling into the drain was a vicious red. Sebastian grimaced at the sight.

When he felt sufficiently cleaned, Sebastian climbed out of the shower and wrapped a soft towel around his hips. Sitting next to the sink was a hand-held mirror that Jim used for preening in the mornings after he stayed at Sebastian's. Jim's vanity knew no bounds. Sebastian put his back to the large wall mirror and picked up Jim's little reflective dish. He aimed the smaller mirror behind him to examine the damage on his back. He was amazed. Jim's skill with a knife never failed to impress the highly trained killer.

Scratched across his upper back, spreading from one shoulder-blade to the other was a bloody word. "FUCKUP." Sebastian glowered. The calligraphy was nice enough, but he'd never be able to go without a shirt in public again. He continued to survey the slashes and noticed that only the smaller branch on the "F" seemed deep enough to warrant medical attention. That was probably where Jim had decided that showing pain wasn't part of the punishment. It would be fine without stitches, it just may take a little longer to close up than the rest of the label.

Sebastian pulled on a terry-cloth robe. It hurt a little when the fabric rested against the word on his back, but Sebastian took it to be a reminder if his mistakes. When he pulled open the bathroom door, he had sleep on his mind. He was, however, a little perturbed and shocked to find his bed occupied.

Jim had his nose buried in a book, but Sebastian knew him well enough to know he wasn't reading it. "Boss?" Sebastian called. He received no acknowledgment. "Boss, how long have you been waiting here?"

Jim hummed a little. "Long enough to see you come home. Quite a show." Jim still didn't look up. Sebastian heard the remnants of annoyance in his boss's voice. The anger wasn't quite gone yet. "You know I need to see it," Jim commented to his book.

Sebastian turned his back to Jim and let his robe slip down a little. He could almost feel Jim's eyes admiring the scratches. By the time he pulled back up his robe and turned around, Jim was back to staring blankly at the pages in front of him. Sebastian detected a hint of pride.

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**Poor Seb. I do put him through so much, bless him.**

**I got a little eager in posting this. Don't expect one-a-day updates!**

**See you next time! Xoxo**


	4. Happy, Excited, Safe

**Warnings: Light sexual themes and so much fluff**

**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or all their perfect perfectness.**

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Sebastian sat straight up in bed. Someone was knocking on the front door. Someone extremely persistent. He looked over to the disturbed blankets next to him, knowing the consulting criminal had probably already left. His assumptions were correct and he was alone in the bed. Not his bed, he noted. He was in Jim's flat. The knocking continued.

Sebastian swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the crumpled cargoes that were laying on the carpet. Normally Jim would never had allowed him to leave clothing on the floor, but last night had been a whir of celebration. Not much mind had been given to where their trousers ended up.

Sebastian marched to the door where the loud rapping had yet to cease. He glared through the peephole to see a very disheveled, albeit very happy, Jim. Sebastian opened the door cautiously and raised an eyebrow at the grinning man. "Everything okay, Boss? Did you lose your key?"

Jim stumbled forward and fell into Seb's open arms. Sebastian shut the door and propped Jim up against it. "Sebsies!" Jim cried happily. Sebastian narrowed his eyes suspiciously then turned to the sitting room. Immediately he felt Jim's weight on his back.

"Aren'tcha gonna carry me?" Jim slurred. Sebastian sighed but stooped, allowing Jim to wrap his arms around Seb's neck and hitch his legs on his hips. With Jim this close, the smell of some expensive drink was invading Seb's senses.

Sebastian piggy-backed his boss to the couch and flung him down. Jim flopped onto the sofa rather ungracefully and stared at his sniper. Sebastian noticed a flush in his bosses cheeks. He also saw that Jim's lack of a tie was probably a recent ailment. He had most likely shed it somewhere while he was out. Somewhere after the acquisition of alcohol.

"I gotcha somethin'," the inebriated man stage whispered. Sebastian figured he was trying to sound seductive, but he wasn't exactly on his game. "A li'l present for a job well done."

Seb folded his arms and continued to look Jim over. "Alright, let's see it," he finally agreed.

Jim looked around, obviously flustered. He patted his pockets and checked inside his coat. "Whoops!" he finally exclaimed before dissolving into giggles. "Guess I drank it."

"Mhmm, and what exactly did you drink?" Sebastian asked, a little worried about alcohol poisoning.

"I dunno," Jim said innocently, shrugging his shoulders.

"Enough to get you hammered, apparently."

"'M not drunk!"

"Oh, no? Can you tell me your full name?" There was a pause.

"James Danger Mori-_hic_ More-hee-yahhh-tee."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Your middle name isn't 'Danger' and that's not how you pronounce your last name."

"Well if it's _my_ name, I can pronounce it the way I like." Jim gave another hiccup and some more giggles. "I wanna pronounce _you_ the way I like."

Sebastian assumed this was some sort of pick up line, but couldn't glean a meaning from it. Drunk Jim wasn't the quite the eloquent, smooth talking type. "I can't even begin to know what you're trying to say, Jim."

"Wha'? You dun un'erstand me? I think 'm jus' a li'l too smart for you," Jim replied, nodding.

Sebastian chuckled under his breath. "Is this still celebration from yesterday?"

"'S not e'ery day that you get an in'erestin' job _and_ finish it quickly. You're really brilliant Sebby. You really are. The best, really. Really!"

"That's a nice sentiment. Now can you stop trying to get into my pants." Sebastian bent down to take off Jim's shoes.

"Seb, I love you."

"Yes, I'm sure you do."

"No, really! Let's go get married, Tiger. I think I'd like to be James Danger Tiger."

"Not how that works, Boss. And that's still not your middle name," the faithful assassin said, taking Jim's shoes to his closet.

By the time Sebastian returned, his boss had passed out. Jim had a light smile set into his snoring features. Seb thought it was actually kind of cute. He hoped this thought would never be found out by his employer, lest he face termination by exsanguination.

Sebastian tossed a blanket over Jim and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. He wished him good night, and left to return to bed.

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**Hope you enjoyed! See y'all later :)**

**R&R if you liked it, and expect a bigger update next time!**


	5. Vacant, Bored, Safe

**Warnings: Amazingly, I don't think I have any warnings for this chapter. Maybe some sort of sexual theme if you squint.**

**Disclaimer: Author does not own Sebastian Moran or Jim Moriarty. Also, he does not have any regrets for his love affair with MorMor.**

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Vacant, Bored, Safe

Sebastian walked out of the steam-filled bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Jim's shower was significantly nicer than his own. He strode into the bedroom where Jim had folded himself in a chair, still wearing his designer pyjamas. Seb went to the dresser and grabbed some of the clothing he kept at Jim's, wondering if his boss was just going to watch while he dressed. He tossed the towel into the laundry bin and quickly pulled on a pair of silk briefs. He heard no comments from the chair behind him.

"What's the plan for today, Boss?" he inquired conversationally, pulling on baggy trousers. There was no answer. He finished buckling his belt and put his arms through a gray button-up, leaving the front hanging open.

"Jim?" he asked. He turned around to face the psychopath. Jim hadn't moved at all. He was just sitting in the chair, legs crossed, staring straight ahead. Sebastian approached him cautiously. His boss gave him no signs of acknowledgment. Sebastian might have thought him dead if he didn't see the shallow rise and fall of Jim's chest.

Seb watched him for a little while, making sure he hadn't had a stroke or something. Every minute or so Jim's eyes would close and reopen languidly in a sort of distracted blink.

This was far from the first time Jim had suddenly gone comatose. Seb counted himself lucky that they weren't doing something important when it happened. He knew that in a time-frame spanning from a few hours to a few days, Jim would suddenly burst awake with some brilliant scheme. Until then, it was just a waiting game.

Sebastian had protocol for situations like this. He needed to know as soon as Jim woke up, though his boss would probably be wrapped up in such a flurry of brilliant schemes at that point that he wouldn't think to call. However, as excited as Jim would be, he would also be starving, weakened, tired, thirsty, and possibly even confused, a state quite aways from his natural mindset. He often forgot where he was when he went into a daze, and didn't like to come out of them alone.

So, Sebastian set up a walkie-talkie next to his boss's chair. He attached its mate to his belt. As soon as Jim "woke up," the device would alert him. He tested them out, just to make sure both of them were functional. Jim wouldn't like the set-up. It was too close to baby monitors. He didn't like to be coddled, much less put under childish surveillance. But Jim wasn't there. He was off in some brilliant place in his head that was completely devoted to the downfall of others.

Sebastian gave his boss one last look-over before he left the flat. The upside to Jim vanishing inside himself was that it gave Seb a little time to do whatever he needed to accomplish. Usually he was so busy running around, fulfilling Jim's wishes that nothing got done. Now, he had some time.

A few hours later, Sebastian was shopping for groceries. As he was perusing the artichokes, a crackle came through the walkie. Seb brought it up to his ear to listen. Jim's voice came through the static clearly.

"Bombyx mori. Bivoltine silkworms."

Sebastian sighed. False alarm. Jim's thinking was seeping into reality. He often had little outbursts while being absent. Invariably, they meant nothing to Sebastian at the time but would usually reveal their meaning when Jim's plan was eventually carried out. Sebastian felt a little wary of this most recent statement. He hoped his future didn't involve carting silkworms around.

The next day, Sebastian was woken up by Jim's senseless speaking. "Semaphore." Seb groaned and returned to sleep.

Around midday, the walkie chirped again. "61 degrees." There was no indication if this was referring to angles, temperature, or coordinates.

On the third day of Jim's seclusion, the message Seb had been waiting for came through the device clipped to his belt. "It's brilliant. Moran! We need to go!" Jim probably hadn't realized Seb wasn't there yet. Sebastian knew Jim had a job for him by the stern use of his last name. Jim was playing the role of business-like employer, and Sebastian had to play hired soldier. He brought the transmitter up to his mouth.

"I'm close by, sir. I'll be there in ten minutes," he reported gruffly. There was the sound of the walkie being discovered.

"Make it five. We have a lot to do."

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**Enjoy!**

**See you guys next post!**


	6. Depressed, Bored, Safe

**Warnings: A little sad and pretty fluffy. Small mention of suicide.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Jim or Seb**

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Depressed, Bored, Safe

Sebastian let himself into Jim's apartment. He marched to the bedroom and threw the door open. "Get up," he ordered angrily. A pale face emerged from a pile of blankets.

"No," Jim said simply.

Sebastian walked over to the bed. "I've been trying to contact you," he announced, snatching the covers from the bed. Jim hissed. "I thought maybe you'd died," Sebastian ranted. "Gone off and killed yourself. Would have made my life easier." Jim curled into himself, seeking warmth.

"Leave me alone," he mumbled, his face pushed into the mattress. "I'll die here on my own anyway." Sebastian noticed the rasp in his voice and wondered when the last time Jim had anything to eat or drink was. Probably not in the last few days. It looked like it had been at least that long since he'd left the bed, though Sebastian doubted he'd slept during that time. When Jim got into one of his moods, he entertained the belief that sleeping would be his demise.

"Make me," Sebastian dared, hoping he could incur Jim's wrath. Anything was better than the near-lifeless rag laying limply on the bed. Jim turned onto his back, eyes rolling sleepily.

"Why should I? Sebastian," he lamented, "we're both going to die soon anyway. In fact, we'll probably die sooner than later. That's how life works. So I might as well just wait here."

Sebastian groaned. It was out of his power to shake his employer from his depression. He tossed the blankets back over Jim, completely obscuring him from view. "Fine, Jim," he raged. "Rot here! See if I even notice." He knew he should be a little more sensitive to the manic-depressive hiding under the blankets, but Jim had hit Seb's last nerve. He began to storm out. "See you later, Boss. Maybe at your funeral."

"Wait," came the feeble cry. "Wait, Sebastian. Don't leave me." Jim sounded so vulnerable, so small that Sebastian stopped where he was. "I need you to stay here."

Sebastian spun around to see Jim cocooned in a mass of blankets, chocolate eyes desperate. "Why should I?" he said coldly.

Jim looked ready to cry. "I don't know. Please." Sebastian rolled his eyes, but they both knew he couldn't refuse Jim. Even if he could, Sebastian knew that when his boss went back to his normal self, Moriarty would remember if an order was disobeyed.

"Will you eat if I stay?" Sebastian asked on his way back to the bed.

Jim made a discontented noise. "I'll consider some fluid," he finally consented. "But only if it's warm and has at least five teaspoons of sugar."

"I didn't know you were capable of compromise," Sebastian sat on the bed and rested against a bedpost. He knew he was probably going to have to stay for a while. Possibly even a day or two. He would stay as long as Jim needed him. Which is to say, as long as it took Jim to realize he was being babied and cared for and subsequently threw him out. At some point he'd make some tea, but for now he was comfortable just waiting on the bed for Jim to be ready to be alone for a moment.

"I'm not going to kill myself today, Seb." This was Jim's way of letting Sebastian know he would eventually be alright. Sebastian appreciated Jim's effort at connecting, especially while in such a dispirited mood. It made him feel almost special to be held in such respect by the psychopath.

"I'm glad to hear it," he responded coolly.

Jim started to hum from the bed. It was disjointed and eerie. Sebastian didn't recognize the tune and thought it was probably being made up as Jim went along. That was a good sign. It gave Jim something to do instead of moping. "You alright, Jim?" Sebastian asked out of courtesy.

"Am I ever?" Jim replied sadly. Sebastian sighed. The humming resumed.

* * *

**I've decided to edit all my posts once the fic is complete, so if you see a typo, PM me or comment so I can fix it :)**

**See you next update. Mwah!**


	7. Mischievous, Excited, Safe

**Warnings: Violence, Sexual content, Language, Silly OC**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Jim or Sebby-baby**

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Mischievous, Excited, Safe

"Sir, you are needed at holding cell twelve." The grunt relaying this message stood emotionless in front of Sebastian, trying to be the perfect soldier.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" the sniper questioned snidely. He liked to seem a little simple to the lower workers. It gave him an air of mystery. He saw the messenger look flustered for half a second and then quickly regain his composure.

"Mr. Moriarty has demanded your presence," he recited quickly. Sebastian found himself suddenly interested.

"Mr. Moriarty, eh? Well that changes everything, don't it?." It wasn't entirely untold for Jim to want Seb around during an interrogation, but it was always either during one of Jim's more intense mood-swings or part of a much larger and more devious plan. Sebastian nearly shuddered thinking about whatever crazy state is boss would be in.

"How'd he seem to you?" he pressed the grunt.

"I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I understand." The man looked at Sebastian warily.

"How did Moriarty seem? Was he angry, upset, giddy, airy? How'd he seem?" Sebastian was getting a little impatient.

A brief and immediately retracted smile appeared on the grunt's lips. "Really? Can you imagine Mr. Moriarty being giddy? Or showing any sort of emotion?"He noted Sebastian glaring at him darkly. He straightened up and resumed soldier mode. "He was professional and emotionless as always, sir."

Sebastian frowned, a little confused. "All right. You should pray that the boss don't find about your little slip there," Sebastian conceded. The grunt flinched a little at the implied punishment. Sebastian brushed past him and started toward holding cell twelve.

Sebastian stepped in to the dark corridor cautiously. The door to the cell was set into the wall on the left. Jim was pacing in the narrow space, seemingly very calm and collected. The sniper didn't announce his presence. He simply waited in the doorway for Jim's acknowledgment. He held a straight-backed and very formal stance. He figured better safe than sorry. If he acted like it was all a joke and Jim actually needed him for something, he would pay dearly.

It didn't take the consulting criminal long to stop pacing and raise his eyes to Sebastian. "Moran, I need your assistance with something," he stated casually.

Scientifically speaking, maybe Sebastian heard that Jim's voice was just a hair off of its normal pitch. Intimately – and more realistically – he probably saw the underlying hint of pure excitement hidden behind a straight lipped and relaxed face. Either way, something was setting Sebastian on edge.

"Of course, sir," he offered the dangerous psychopath. "What's the job?"

"Nothing too extensive," Jim tutted. "I simply need an intimidating presence in the room for this interrogation." He was acting normal enough, or as normal as he could ever be. He didn't seem to be caught in the midst of any sort of fit. And yet, Sebastian didn't dare let his guard down for half a moment.

Sebastian tried fishing for any information on the job. "Are my explicit instructions to look scary...sir?"

Jim was looking at him, but Sebastian suspected he was elsewhere. "Yes," came the airy reply. "I need the image of a bodyguard, I suppose." With this anti-explanation, Jim pulled the door to the cell open. "After you, Moran." It was less of a courteous invitation and more of a strict order. Jim closed his eyes, quietly preparing himself for his upcoming plan. Sebastian shuffled past him into the room.

Sebastian took great pride in his night-vision and it took no time at all for him to adjust to the dark room. There was an extremely thin man wearing simple rags on the floor in the center of the cell. He had a polished shackle leading from one of his wrists to a loop attached to the ground a few feet away. The room and set-up was so primitive that Seb wondered if the hostage even knew about the high-tech facility that surrounded him.

If he really thought about it, the clever sniper could probably have figured which one of Jim's dissidents he was currently viewing, but his train of thought was still determining why he had been called there.

Jim had planned his entrance beautifully. Dim lights set in the walls glowed softly, casting dangerous shadows across the consulting criminal. He strolled in coolly with his hands jammed in his pockets. The door swung shut behind him as if his presence was creating an inescapable vacuum. The chained man's face remained placid, which in itself was a pretty impressive feat. Jim removed one hand from his trousers and made a tiny motion for Sebastian to stand in a corner.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bennett," Jim cooed with a voice that asserted himself as king.

"Ah, Mr. Moriarty, I do believe it is morning," the other man quipped, remaining as bored-looking as possible.

"Time well kept. You believe correctly," came the affirmation.

Sebastian watched this exchange with only the faintest interest. Jim's business was not his own. He was acting as an employee, a servant of his boss. From the chained man's inherent cleverness, Sebastian guessed that he was the map-maker Jim had been so enamored with recently. The one that had hidden some great treasure and layered the directions to it with unbreakable codes.

"I would like very much for you to tell me where you have hidden my client's possessions," Jim said in a polite Irish lilt.

"Yes, I know you would. Unfortunately, I have no knowledge of such objects," said the liar.

"Actually, Mr. Bennett, I had hoped you may be difficult." His voice had taken a turn toward the singsong and gloating. "Up until now, you have resisted my usual methods of persuasion admirably." Sebastian wondered if the light was playing tricks, or if there really was a worn, proud smile on Bennett's face. "And I've concluded that, like myself, you believe your mind to be so superior that the pain to your body becomes meaningless. Of course, you are not quite as brilliant as me, but you have made a fun opponent."

"I accept your compliment."

"Yes, well, I have more devices at my disposal than the ones that split skin."

"Are you suggesting mind games?"

"Nu-uh. I'm done with games. How does mind control sound?" Bennett lifted an eyebrow. "With that, I'd like to introduce my subordinate."

Sebastian was truly shocked. Was he being asked to be part of some sort of demonstration? Nothing close to this had happened before. There was no protocol. The soldier was lost.

Jim made a nearly imperceptible gesture and Sebastian stepped closer to him. He suddenly felt like he was part of a car show and was about to be inspected.

"This is my lov-e-ly assistant, Colonel Sebastian Moran." His name? His name. His real name. Jim never used his real name. Jim never let him get exposed.

"Moran?" Bennett repeated the name as if it was some foreign anathema to his tongue. "Pardon my curiosity, but I have done extensive research into your operation. I have reviewed hundreds of branches on your crime tree, and have examined most of the leaves. I know every single gun you've ever hired. And yet, I am unfamiliar with any Sebastian Moran. You wouldn't be giving me a false name, now would you?"

Jim looked thoroughly offended at the notion. "Me? A liar? Mr. Bennett!" He clutched his chest dramatically. "I thought we understood one another! No, no, no. I have just kept my dear Sebastian well-hidden. In the dark, where he belongs."

Sebastian had been tense from the moment he saw Jim in the hallway, but now he was thrumming with alarm. He could only imagine one reason for his boss dragging him from the shadows; He was being discarded. Jim had grown bored with him and was planning on terminating his employment via large head wound.

"Hm, I see," Bennett mused. "And what makes this one so special?"

As an answer, Jim turned his face up to Sebastian's. He made no other movement. It was just a millisecond of eye-contact before he looked away. If he wasn't fearful for his life, Sebastian would have felt extreme intimacy. Instead he worried for a moment that Jim may try to eat him.

Bennett raised his eyebrows in an unnecessary show of surprise. "Oh, I see. I must say, I didn't take you as sentimental, James."

"Actually, there is only one man who takes me at all." Sebastian was on the verge of blushing. This was wrong. It was professional time. Their relationship was not to be spoken of while playing as subservient worker and employer. This was was business, and yet Jim was blurring that line into oblivion.

"Now that my connection with my sniper has been made clear, watch closely. And keep in mind that Sebastian has greater mental prowess than most. It's why he has risen so high within my company. He is not an ordinary mercenary. He may be cleverer than yourself.

Bennett watched sceptically, yet attentively, as Jim took a step away from the alarmed assassin. He pulled out his mobile. The screen's glow illuminated his face from beneath, twisting his features to a demonic high.

"Relax, Moran," Jim soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you...physically."

It wasn't his boss's promise of a semi-painless display that allowed Sebastian to unclench his jaw. It was his last name. He was still a subordinate and he hadn't misread the situation.

"This is a song I composed a while ago," Jim explained to his audience. "I call it Pavlov's Sonata." He tapped a button on the screen and a sweet piano melody filled the small room. It sounded familiar and Sebastian figured he had probably heard it in its early stages in the flat.

Suddenly, Sebastian's sense of danger exploded. Something was wrong. Alarm bells were tolling in his head. He cringed, though he wasn't sure from what. He scanned the room, seeking out the source of peril. His breath was coming short as adrenaline filled his body. But for what? There was nothing to be seen except a terrified-looking cartographer and an amused psychopath. The contrast of the pretty music was making him feel dizzy. Sebastian braced himself for pain, but nothing came. Sebastian's mind was racing. Jim seemed alright, but Bennett looked even more terrified than himself.

Jim held up his phone and clicked the music off. Bennett stared pale-faced at him with bleak understanding.

"Like a dog with a whistle," Jim chirped. Sebastian took deep breaths, trying to steady himself. His instincts had saved him on many occasions and he trusted their response to whatever had just happened. He felt his breathing slow a little and noted that the feeling of impending death was dissipating.

"Would you like to see more?" Jim asked his captive. Without waiting for a response from the still-stunned man, Jim tapped his touch screen again. A different movement of the sonata leaked from the device. It was softer and eerie. It sounded like a lullaby had slit its wrists and was waiting to bleed out.

Despite his own unease and the glare of both other men, Sebastian felt his brain go a little fuzzy. His mind had stopped whirring and trying to glean Jim's intentions. He wondered vaguely why he was the object of focus and why Jim was smiling and who Mr. Bennett was and why the ground was so close and where his legs went. Lying on the cold ground, Sebastian heard Jim's dangerous, threatening voice break through the fog.

"And I _care_ for Sebastian. Imagine what I could do to you." Then the sniper heard no more.

Sebastian awoke with a startled gasp. He immediately went to trying to discover what had happened and what situation he was in now.

The ground he was on was still cold, so he couldn't have been down for more than a few minutes. He did not feel tired, indicating his sleep was artificially induced. Beyond the cool touch of the floor there was a warm smell in the air. The tantalizingly coppery aroma of fresh blood.

A glint off the metal loop in the floor caught his eye and he visually followed the chain to where it was still clamped around Bennett's wrists. Though really, when a person's brains are only fifty percent still in their skull, restraints become rather redundant.

Sebastian twisted around to see Jim sitting on the floor behind him, a satisfied grin plastered onto a smug face. He had maroon spatter across his suit. Sebastian was sure he would hear about how inconsiderate it was for Bennett to have bled on the expensive Westwood jacket later. Currently, Jim's gaze was fixed on the confused sniper.

"Sir," Sebastian started, not sure if they were still in business mode or not, "What happened?"

Jim cocked his head. "Bennett told me what I needed to know, then he had a run in with the wall. Most unfortunate."

"I mean, why am I on the ground?" Then as an afterthought, "Sir?"

"You fell asleep in the middle of a job. How unprofessional, Sebby. I expect more from my employee of the month." Sebastian unwound a little to slip into comfortable mode.

"Did you poison me, Jim?"

Jim scooted a little closer and stroked Sebastian's hand. "Now, now. You know our rule about poisoning. I have to ask first."

"Okay then. Did you have _anything_ to do with my abrupt nap time?"

Jim smiled broadly. He pulled out his phone and waggled it. "My newest venture! And you're part of it, Seb!"

Sebastian stared at the little device. Jim was giving him the always-infuriating Don't-You-Get-It smile. The screen showed a simple list of mp3s, each a different movement of Pavlov's Sonata. _Pavlov._

"Did you...condition me?"

"Like Pavlov's dog! A dog drools when it hears a bell, and you do what I want when you hear music! It's brilliant!"

Jim was so happy, so excited, and Sebastian wanted nothing more than to punch the joy out of him. His bossed seemed to sense this toxic anger and shrunk a little. He knew that Sebastian would never seriously hurt him, but he still didn't like being glowered at. He hung his head slightly.

Sebastian felt pity for his boss. His delusional grandstanding only revealed his true, sad side. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know where to draw a line. Sebastian looked at the rejected man and wondered how he had ever been angry. How could he when – no. This was wrong. He was supposed to be mad. Why wasn't he furious?

Sebastian strained his ears and heard the faintest chime of music. "Dammit, Jim!" he cried.

Jim's puppy-dog eyes vanished in a second to be replaced by the evil amusement that he wore so well. "Did you feel it? Did you start to feel pity? Oh, please tell me you did! This is too perfect!" Jim hopped up and gave a stupid little twirl. Then he focused onto Sebastian. The sniper also stood, not wanting to be quite so overpowered.

"Do you want to see the others?" Jim asked with the excitement of a child with a new toy. "I have so much more to make you feel!" Sebastian began to protest. Jim flounced over and covered Seb's mouth with his hand. "Listen, Tiger. I asked, but really I wouldn't miss this opportunity for the world. Now, I don't _really_ want to break your brain, so here's what's going to happen. I'm going to try out a few more of these soundbites, and you're going to express the induced feeling honestly." Sebastian glared down at the little man still holding a hand to his face. "Any questions, darling?"

Jim's hand slipped down to Sebastian's throat, possibly to comfort the assassin. Possibly to threaten him. "How did you do it?"

"Let you in on my process? Hmm, I'm not sure." Jim made a point of visibly pondering. Sebastian was never famed for his patience with Jim's acting. "I suppose it couldn't hurt!"

Jim began to circle around Sebastian, like a shark and its prey, while he explained the process. It had taken quite a long time to pull together.

First, Jim had to compose the music. Easy enough. He often composed when bored. Next, Jim separated the song into several movements, each to be designated to a different mood. Then came the hard part. He had to wait, music player at the ready, for Sebastian to be feeling whatever mood Jim was trying to capture. Some were harder than others.

Getting the sleeping one was the easiest. Jim simply crept into Sebastian's flat each evening (assuming they weren't already sharing a bed) and eased him out of delta sleep and into beta. This way., his sleeping brain registered the music but wasn't awake enough to notice the change in external stimuli.

When that particular movement was played back, Sebastian's mind had so heavily associated it with sleep that they could no longer be separated. The subconscious reasoned that, because it was hearing sleep music, it must be asleep. And thus came the passing out.

The others were more difficult, but Jim persevered and finally collected a good library of the emotions of Sebastian Moran by playing Pavlov's Sonata so low in volume, that the sniper would have had to strain just to realize it was there.

Sebastian took a moment to think about this. Not only did Jim get to decide his every action, but now he could decide how that made him feel.

"Seb, darling, I can read you like a book, you know. I promise, this whole process was just meant to frighten Mr. Bennett. I shall destroy the sonata as soon as I'm done. But I need to see them all. I need to." Sebastian saw Jim's desperate expression. The one that should have made him wish for a cyanide pill. The look that ended empires. And then music filled the air.

Sebastian cringed, ready for whatever the sweet notes would do to him. Yet, he felt no different. He felt himself. There didn't seem to be any brain-control, and Sebastian figured some part of Jim's plan had gone wrong. He smiled a little thinking about the mistrials of his supposedly infallible employer. He was still thinking about them when the crisp Irish voice interrupted.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Jim had his head cocked to the side and looked utterly human.

"Nothing, boss," Sebastian replied, though he was sure his grin was giving him away. Could Jim really punish him for enjoying his short-comings.

"So, you're not smiling because you're thinking about me being a real person. About my humanity? And you almost made me feel special." The music stopped. Sebastian's smile died with the melody.

"What was that supposed to be? Happiness?" Sebastian wasn't sure if he had felt the right thing, but it sure seemed like Jim knew exactly what he had been thinking.

"That particular piece was happiness over my mistakes. Though I must say, I am a little disturbed to see the pleasure my fallacies bring you." Jim was frowning, but it was extremely artificial. "No matter, I suppose. Shall we see another?" Jim flicked the screen again and a faster piece made an audible appearance.

Sebastian felt fuzzy again. He wondered why Jim would want him back asleep. That seemed to rather defeat the purpose of this game. But Seb didn't fall back down. He felt just felt a little foggy and some familiar feeling was creeping up on him as the movement progressed.

Jim had resumed sitting on the floor, and stared with a rapt expression at the sniper. Sebastian stumbled and almost fell, but managed to catch himself in time. He decided Jim had the right idea by being in the floor. He squatted low, and then rocked back into a sitting position. Jim was still observing.

"Whisch one's this then, Jimmy?" Sebastian asked, trying to see past the clouds in his head.

"Interesting," came a reply that sounded impossibly far away.

"Wow! Yer voice is so far! Like, I can hear it fo'ever ago! That's so _weird_, Jimmy." Sebastian wasn't sure what it meant, but he felt like he had to say it. Jim needed to know.

Sebastian managed to clear out his head long enough to see an amused Jim peering at him on eye-level. The music – which had rose to a blaring pitch – stopped suddenly. Sebastian's head spun at the loss of interference, and the room swam back to sharp focus. From the crystal-clear state he had returned to, Sebastian could see what had just occurred pretty easily.

"Did you just get me drunk?"

Jim smiled. "What would make you think that, Seb?" he asked coyly.

"I got...cloudy. And I'm pretty sure I called you 'Jimmy.' How often do I do that sober?"

"Never, thank God. Anyway, what do you think?" Jim looked at Sebastian as if he actually cared about anyone else's opinion.

"What do I think? I think you should bloody stop." Jim looked a little confused by Sebastian's upset. "No one likes having their brains fucked with, Jim. Not even if it's by you."

Jim looked almost surprised by this admission. One might think that he thought Sebastian was enjoying the special treatment. "Can I have one more?" Sebastian looked at Jim with his mouth open. "Sebastian, just one more?"

Sebastian stared a little longer. He knew he didn't actually have a choice, but he still really wanted to refuse the psychopath. Finally, he sighed.

"One more. Then that's it."

Jim lit up again. He pressed something on the phone and a fast tune tore through the room. "This one's special," Jim stated. He didn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular, though his attention was fully on Sebastian. It made the taller man feel a little uncomfortable, but he felt no noticeable mood-swings yet.

"This one's special because nothing happens at first. Also, it's one of the few physical reactions I crafted. Get ready, Seb."

Sebastian had almost no time at all to ponder the words "physical reaction" before he learned through experience what they meant.

A random viewer of this scene would think the poor man was having a fit. Sebastian seized up on the floor and began breathing heavily. A more observant onlooker would notice the blush rising to his face, the quiet, low moan that accompanied the first sharp breath, and the involuntary stuttering of his hips. Neither audience member would be able to miss the rapture that took James Moriarty while he watched his favorite employee shudder into the ground. He could barely turn off the music, he was so filled with excitement. Sebastian was curled on the floor, breathing heavily. For a while, Jim simply watched him, but his excitement could not be contained for long.

"That was amazing!" the psychopath cried. Sebastian glared at his boss, face slack and still huffing. "Brilliant! I am a genius, the most clever man to ever have walked this planet. Tell me Seb darling, was it dry or do I need to call in for a new pair of pants?"

"Wha – Wha jus hapin'd?" Sebastian asked rather breathlessly. Jim smiled a grin that was all teeth.

"You never were very eloquent afterward, honey. Was it as good as usual? See, I wasn't sure if it would be because you weren't expecting it and there was no physical stimulation, but it was still my handiwork and I am the best."

Sebastian took another moment, listening to his boss's gloating. Finally he found his thoughts and spoke. "I didn't like that, Jim." It was childish and simple, but he didn't really feel up to having some intellectual argument with his intellectual employer.

Jim frowned intensely. He looked as though Sebastian's response had both surprised and disappointed him. "Not at all?" The question was sincere and maybe concerned.

"No. Not at all."

Jim chewed his lip a little. "Well I guess with so little stimulus and even less notice, it _came_ as rather a shock." He stopped for a moment. "Ha, that was funny. I'm funny."

Sebastian groaned, though this time it was out of exasperation. "No more, right?"

Jim smiled kindly. "No more, Tiger. Now, can we go home. It smells a bit like cracked skull in here."

Sebastian stood on shaky legs. "I wonder why," he muttered.

"Don't be naughty, Seb." Jim hugged a stiff-backed Sebastian. "And now it's time to leave."

"Delete the music."

"But, Sebastian! I worked so hard!"

"Delete it, Jim."

"Ugh, fine. For you, Colonel, I suppose I could try."

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**Whew, that was a long one. Happy late Thanksgiving. Mofftiss bless us, every one!**


	8. Angry, Bored, Safe

**Warnings: Bad language**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own Jim or Sebastian. Someday...**

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Angry, Bored, Safe**  
**

Sebastian ducked as a lamp shattered above his head. He stood calmly and lit the cigarette he had been rolling. He took a drag and examined the small Irishman having a tantrum in his living room.

"Nothing's happening, Sebastian!" Jim raged. He was tearing at his hair, pacing in a furious panic. "Make something happen!" he shouted at the sniper.

"Boss –" Sebastian began.

Jim picked up a vase and lobbed it in Sebastian's direction. "Don't you fucking start," he warned a crouching Sebastian. "Why hasn't anyone called me? I'm important!"

"I know you are," Sebastian added. Jim stopped pacing and glared at him.

"Do you, Sebastian?" he hissed. "Why the fuck are you even here? Did I call you? I didn't think so. You're always just hanging around, being a bloody nuisance!"

"I'm sorry." Sebastian had worked for Jim long enough to know all the lines to his part, even if he was being accused of hanging around in his own apartment. Jim narrowed his eyes at the sniper before accepting this offering and returning to his rant.

"It's so inconsiderate for people to not need my help! Does nobody need a criminal anymore? Has the world stopped going mad?" He stalked to the couch and began throwing cushions into the air. "The expansion of civility is an extreme inconvenience. Where's my phone, Seb? What if someone wants me to kill their loved one? How will I know?"

"You do realize you're in my flat, yeah? I doubt you'll find any of your things in here unless you brought them with you," Sebastian observed. It didn't matter if Jim kept breaking things or made a huge mess. When he cooled down, he'd send someone over to replace any ceramic casualties and clean up after Hurricane Jim.

"Shit! Seb, did I bring my phone in here? I can't fucking remember!" Jim rubbed his face and fell to the ground, legs splayed in a very undignified manner. "Take me home, Sebastian. I want to be home."

Jim fumed silently while Sebastian looked him over. The psychopath's suit was wrinkled horribly, his brow was furrowed with frustration, and his mouth was turned into an angry frown. All in all, Seb's boss looked thoroughly crinkled.

"Why is it so boring here?" Jim finally asked to no one in particular.

"Where?"

"Here! Here, life. I don't know! Stop asking so many bloody questions! Take me home." Sebastian pitied his distressed boss. He knew Jim's bored mind was probably trying to tear itself in half just to give it something to do. Being as brilliant as Jim was a curse that Sebastian didn't care to imagine. Without constant entertainment, Jim would begin withering until eventually he would end up confused and unsure of his willingness to be alive. No, Sebastian was fine being the slightly above-average hitman that he was.

"I'll call you a car," Sebastian said, pulling out his phone.

"No. Steal one so _you_ can drive me. I don't want to deal with an idiotic driver," Jim demanded. "Ordinary people are frustratingly uninteresting. I can't stand to think of spending even a second socializing with one unless the conversation we have is about their impending demise."

"What about me? I'm ordinary," Sebastian countered. Jim's head lolled to the side, his hair sticking up in every direction.

"Yes, but you're sexy and you tend to keep stupid comments to yourself."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Ta, Boss. That means a lot."

"That's because you're easy." Sebastian rolled his eyes again and stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray on the coffee table.

"Alright, let's get you home." Seb hoisted his still-pissy boss off the floor. Together, they walked out of the flat.

* * *

**Right now I'm working on a pretty long chapter, so be patient and all that. I'm also quite busy crying myself to sleep with the announcement that Series 3 has been pushed back to 2014. Ah well.**


	9. Happy, Excited, Dangerous

**Warnings: Filth. Filthy filth. And cursing. And violence. And filth.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Jim or Sebastian or Sherlock BBC or anything else.**

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Happy, Excited, Dangerous**  
**

"Ohmigod yes," Jim cried, his head falling forward. His hands pushed hard into Sebastian's shoulders. The latter canted his hips up again and Jim gave another shout. Even though most of it was for a theatrical effect, those keening moans and desperate cries were still sweet music. Well, at least they were to Sebastian. He could remember a few times when hotel managers had knocked to see if they were alright.

"Oh, Tiger! Don't stop!"

"Wasn't really planning to," Sebastian forced out with more than a little effort. Jim's short nails dug into his shoulders a bit. Jim, rather surprisingly to Seb, wasn't a fan of banter in bed. He preferred meaningless, needy shouts to talking. As if to prove this, the consulting criminal cried out again. One of his hands left his favorite employee's shoulder and moved up to a tie between Seb's hand and the bedpost. It was a necessary precaution. Sebastian was a scratcher.

Sebastian felt the tug on his wrist vanish suddenly. Jim had apparently procured a knife from some hiding spot and sliced the silk bond, leaving a short loop trailing from Seb's wrist. "Ah! Harder. Now." The assassin obliged, quickening his pace.

"Seb," Jim huffed. "God! I just need you to cut me."

Sebastian stilled his hips and the whine that lured from Jim's throat was almost enough to make him start up again. "What?"

Jim whined again. "Sebastian, I want you to cut me." His voice was breathy and he looked into Sebastian's eyes, commanding. He pressed the knife into Seb's free hand.

"Jim, are you sure?" The psychopath hated scars. Or rather, he hated the idea of having a scar. He rather enjoyed them on other people. Sebastian was living, bleeding proof of that.

"Fuck! Yes I'm sure! Just do it!"

Sebastian looked Jim over nervously. "Where? And how big?"

"Shitting Christ in Hell, I don't care! Use your bloody imagination!"

Sebastian almost laughed at Jim's desperate outburst, but he was already in trouble and mocking a consulting criminal seemed like a bad life choice. "Turn around," Sebastian ordered, enjoying the small moment of power. When Jim rotated they both groaned. And then the sense of power was gone when Sebastian realized one hand was still bound back. "I need my other hand to hold you still," he informed, reaching to cut the tie.

"No," Jim replied.

"What?"

"No."

"Can you promise me you're not going to move around?"

"No."

"Then I'll be needing my hand, Jim."

"No."

"I'm going to cock it up then."

"No."

Sebastian gave up his battle and focused on the white canvas of skin before him. "So I can do anything I want?" he asked, tracing a light touch down Jim's back. Jim shivered and hissed out a yes. At the base of the smaller man's, Sebastian rubbed the skin just enough to see it flush pink. "I think here," he commented, caressing the area. Jim moaned his approval. It didn't take the sniper half a second to choose what he would carve. The scarred "JM" across his own ribs was his muse. He let the tip of the blade brush gently across Jim's flesh and was met with another shiver. "You have to stay still," he commanded. The reply was an annoyed growl.

At the first bit of the knife Jim bucked forward, eliciting matched moans. "Fuck, stop moving," Sebastian breathed.

Jim gave a desperate wiggle. "Hurry up then!"

Sebastian considered himself an expert with a knife. He could cleanly cut four arteries in less than two seconds. He could throw a dagger into the spinal cord of a moving target from 20 meters. He could make a paper cut feel like exsanguination. And he was sure that the most difficult thing he'd ever done with a knife was trying to carve an "S" into a squirming Moriarty. Every time another bend in the damn twisty letter started seeping across the gently bleeding skin, Jim would jerk up or grind down. It wasn't a matter of pain; Jim could do pain. He was just acting difficult for the sake of being a terrible human being. And is if the actual fucking movements weren't enough, there were the effects they were having on the poor sniper. It was like Jim hadn't got the memo that they had stopped having sex for a moment. And the moans and whines he continued making were proof. Seb was having a little trouble focusing on his work.

The "M" was significantly easier. The points that connected the four lines were a little tricky simply because of the canvas's quivers while Sebastian was working. The blood dripping off from the cuts was pooling below Seb's navel. It was warm and sticky and Jim's and Sebastian liked that.

When he finally pulled the knife away, Seb heard a low satisfied growl. Too low to be Jim's. By his sudden estimate, he had probably been making that noise a lot. Jim shifted again, pressing back against the sniper. Sebastian felt his bound arm strain.

"Tiger, oh God, tell me you're done. I'm so close," he huffed. Sebastian held back his guttural response and reviewed his work. It was bad. It was really bad. There were children that hadn't quite yet memorized the alphabet that would have mocked this crude lettering. The shaky S went flat in some places while twisting at awkward angles in others. The lines of the M were strung together roughly and were painfully uneven. Sebastian loved it. It was a mark that showed the reward of his loyalty and it was hideously beautiful. He could have admired it forever if not for the canvas insistently trying to thrust down onto him. When he finally obliged, neither lasted long.

* * *

**So, as it turns out, I can't really write sex. But that's okay, because I know you all love me anyway. I love you too. I'm so glad we can finally say that to each other. **

**Catch you later,**

**Xoxo Mr. Awful**


	10. Vacant, Excited, Safe

**Warnings: Swearing, a little violence**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the beautiful people of BBC Sherlock.**

* * *

Vacant, Excited, Safe

"Is everything prepared, Moran?"

"Yes sir."

"Excellent. Let's begin, shall we?" Sebastian nodded. He saw Jim brace himself.

Though he would lend serious protest if his boss ever asked, this was Sebastian's absolute favorite part of his job. He cocked back his arm and Jim leaned toward him a little. Sebastian took a second to aim, then landed a heavy blow right underneath Jim's eye. The smaller man barely flinched. Jim's tolerance for pain was impressive, even to the ex-colonel.

Jim smiled a little to indicate a job well done, then turned his back to Sebastian to face the iron door. Sebastian grabbed the back of the cotton shirt Jim had donned for the job, wrenched the door open, and roughly threw Jim into the room.

Jim fell to the ground clutching the bruise forming on his face, smearing the small amount of blood that was seeping out. He turned to Sebastian with absolute fury in his eyes while simultaneously looking like he was about to cry. Sebastian wished sometimes that his boss wasn't so good at looking completely betrayed. It made playing his own part all the more difficult.

Upon their arrival, the man that had been waiting in the room stood up. He was haggard but his expression showed prideful disobedience. Sebastian seemed to remember him as being a world leader of some type, but, for the life of him, couldn't remember the other details. It didn't matter anyway. Jim handled these things.

Mr. Important was looking angrily at Sebastian while glancing nervously at Jim. The latter finally spoke. "You fucking monster," Jim spat. His American accent had really come along. "Who the hell do you think you're dealing with here?"

"Dr. Cream, you'll find, I think, that I don't care." Sebastian's Irish accent was shit so he hoped their guest would forgive him for the minor inaccuracy. A light dawned in the other man's eyes.

"You're Mr. Moriarty," he hissed. Sebastian mocked curious examination. "I suspected you might visit me." He sounded Polish. Probably an ambassador of sorts judging by his desk-job physique. Sebastian gave him an extremely exaggerated bow. Off to the side, Jim rolled his eyes.

Sebastian smirked and continued his best impersonation of a pompous arse. "In the flesh. Well spotted sir. Now if you gentleman will excuse me, I have more important things to do." Sebastian began to waltz out of the room, expecting to hear a cry behind him. Jim was supposed to snap to life and attack him. However, he reached the door without incident. He turned around, not quite sure what his excuse for doing so would be.

The captive was leaning over an unmoving Jim. Sebastian's boss was lying on his back with his eyes closed. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He hated when Jim made him go off-script. "What's his problem?" Sebastian asked uninterestedly. The ambassador-or-something looked at him with utter terror.

"What did you do to him?" he asked with a rising panic. Sebastian forced his lip to twitch up evilly, though he still couldn't anticipate what Jim was trying to do. "For God's sake! He's hardly breathing!"

That gave the sniper pause. For a second he wondered if he'd hit Jim a little too hard. It was far from the worst hit Jim had taken from him. He considered ending the plan early, even without the codeword. Then, although his body stayed perfectly still and eyes remained closed, Jim spoke.

"Strasbourg, France." Sebastian willed himself not to let out a sigh of relief. Jim wasn't injured, he had simply "left the building," as it were. If it was Sebastian's choice, this would still be the end of Jim's time as Dr. Thomas Cream, American philanthropist. He didn't like to leave his boss's side when he went off roaming the fields of his mind, but when he woke up he'd be ready to finish the job and would be sorely disappointed if he found himself somewhere other than where he had drifted away from.

Staying in character, Sebastian waved away their guest's concerns airily. "I had someone give him a little gift," he said, trying to mimic the sing-song mocking tone that Jim loved so dearly. "It'll give him some very sweet dreams. He should be fine in a while. Just scream if he dies. Bye!" With that, Sebastian adopted a skipping walk to exit the room, shutting the door behind him. He couldn't wait to take off the uncomfortable suit.

Sebastian had never been happier about Jim's love of security cameras. He went to the viewing room of the compound where Jim and the ambassador were being held. A large screen broadcast the entire concrete room. Feeling much more comfortable in a t-shirt and slacks, Sebastian settled into the chair facing the screen. The quality was so crisp that Sebastian could see all the hues of the bruise welling up below Jim's eye. It was beautiful.

The Polish Whatever was watching Jim warily. He'd reclaimed his seat on the floor and pushed his back against the wall. Sebastian decided the scene was fairly tame, and Jim would be safe enough without his intent supervision. He turned up the volume on the security feed and laid back.

A couple of hours later, Sebastian was startled to consciousness by a cry of his name.

"Moran!"

He sat up in the chair. He hadn't really been sleeping – simply cherishing a rare moment of relaxation. He peered at the screen and saw that Jim had sat up, flailing a little. The other man in the room's hands flew up defensively. It took him a second to hone in on the source of upset and he clambered to Jim's side. Jim's head whipped around, examining his surroundings. It only took him a moment remember where he was, and when he did he slipped easily back into character. He slumped weakly and groaned.

"Are you alright?" the Polish man asked.

"I, uh. I don't know. What happened?" Jim rubbed his head. It wouldn't make any sense in the context. A sedative wouldn't cause a headache, but people seemed to like the imagery.

"You were drugged. It was Moriarty."

Jim's eyebrows shot up, then narrowed angrily. "He's the devil." Sebastian scoffed from his viewing room. His boss's sense of grandeur had a sense of grandeur.

The Polish man smiled. "Yes, I suppose he is. Who is Moran? You shouted his name." Sebastian flinched. Thank God Jim was an expert improviser.

Jim looked around sadly. "He was business partner. Back stateside. He went missing about a week ago."

"So, you are American?"

Jim nodded, still looking painfully exhausted. "Yeah. From New York. I own a business there. Some of my employees ended up caught in Moriarty's web. I guess I was just trying to get them out."

"Ah yes. I was in a similar situation. I held a high position of government in my country. I found that some of my subordinates were in arms dealings with Mr. Moriarty. When I tried to investigate, I was brought here by a horde of henchmen. I suppose, however, I was lucky not be drugged."

"Government? Like, what, a king or something?" Sebastian wished sometimes Jim would play this dumb normally.

The Polish man gave a soft chuckle. "No, no. Poland doesn't have a king. But yes, I was among the higher ranks." Jim nodded, acting a little ashamed of his stupidity. "And I believe I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Daniel Bubel." He offered his hand.

Jim accepted the handshake with an air of friendliness. "I'm Thomas. Thomas Cream. It's good to meet you Daniel." Jim let his head drift to face the camera head-on. Sebastian was sure Jim knew he was watching. His theory was confirmed when his boss gave him a little knowing wink.

* * *

**So as per several requests (I love you guys!), I plan on continuing my other ongoing fic, Game Changer. Just don't expect an update tomorrow or anything. **

**Catch y'all later!**

***no you won't!***

**Sorry, I had to.**


	11. Depressed, Excited, Safe

**Warnings****: A little angsty, but nothing awful.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Jim Moriarty or Sebastian Moran, though I'm not totally sure I would want to. (okay yeah i would)**

* * *

Depressed, Excited, Safe

Sebastian got home late. He hadn't had a job in a while, and hadn't heard anything from Jim since he received a call about twelve hours ago.

"_Hello, darling. Just letting you know that I've got a little planning to do. Do not disturb me."_

Sebastian had simply shrugged, thinking of all the things he could do in his free-time. He spent much of the next few days trying to come up with things to do. In truth, he didn't have much of a life outside of Jim's demands, both professional and personal.

After a week of existing in solitude, Sebastian's phone rang. Jim's flat's number came up on he ID. Sebastian answered almost too quickly.

"What's the plan, sir?"

"Seb," Jim's voice cracked a little. Sebastian was immediately concerned. After Jim had spent so much time planning, Sebastian should be being treated as an employee, complete with the last-name-only terms.

"Jim, what happened?" Seb questioned. He was already pulling on his jacket and picking out a gun.

"Seb, you need to get here now." Jim's voice was quivering. The line went dead. Sebastian was out the door in a second, already checking out the street for the right car to steal.

It took Sebastian about fifteen minutes to get to Jim's. By the time he got there, he was so tense that he was itching. He was ready to kick in his boss's door when he noticed it wasn't latched. He swung it open quickly scanned the front hallway. He saw no signs of a struggle. Nothing out of the ordinary. He proceeded into the living area, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

The living area was also clear of any hints to the cause of Jim's obvious distress. Sebastian peeked into the bedroom, but nothing there was of any help.

Sebastian stalked cautiously to Jim's study and pulled the door open. It was clear he had found the right room. Papers lay scattered across Jim's desk and spilled out onto the floor. On top of the mess of notes was a bottle of some sinister liquid and a shot-glass. Sebastian wasn't sure if it was poison, alcohol, or some vile cocktail of the two, but it hadn't been opened and the glass was dry.

To the left of the desk was a dark mound. As Sebastian advanced into the room, he saw it stir. He took a moment to be startled before recognizing the crumpled pile as Jim. When the Jim's dark, sullen eyes took notice of him, the small man ruptured up from the floor. He swayed a little then rushed to Sebastian's side. His arms opened, as if to embrace the sniper.

Less than a foot away from Sebastian, Jim reeled back a step and wrapped his arms around himself. He looked like he had been shocked. Sebastian stretched out a hand, not totally sure what his plan was, but Jim shied away from it.

"Seb?" Jim whimpered.

"What's wrong?" Sebastian asked intently. Jim's lower lip shook a little.

"Why did you come here?" His voice was choked and his accent was becoming a little difficult to understand.

"Why? Because you told me to, Jim."

This gave Jim pause. "So? Why do you listen to me?" His eyes were red-rimmed.

"Because you're the boss."

"Is that it? Is that the only reason you're still here?" Sebastian considered the question before attempting to form an answer, but in his half second of hesitation Jim gave a cry of anguish. It startled the sniper and he stepped back a little.

"You see! Look, you're trying to leave now!" Jim had tears spilling down his face. Sebastian wasn't sure what to do. Jim had been panicked and depressive before, but it was never directed at anyone. Usually, Sebastian would just wait with him until he mellowed out.

"I'm not going to leave, Jim," Sebastian said, attempting sympathy. Admittedly, sentimentality wasn't quite his area.

"Why? Because I make you? Because you're scared of what I'll do if you go? Well, maybe I don't want you here!"

Sebastian recognized immediately that this was not an order. He made no attempt to move.

Jim fell to his knees and hugged Sebastian's legs. "I don't want you to go, Seb. Not now. Never go!"

That was an order.

Sebastian sunk down to Jim's level and pulled him close, stroking the greasy tangle on top of Jim's head. Jim gave a loud sob that was muffled by the sniper's chest.

"Jim, what happened to you?" Sebastian half-whispered, not expecting a real answer, but just bemusedly wondering.

Jim held him tight. "I was talking to a client. The Swedish arms dealer. He asked me why anyone would voluntarily get close to me." Sebastian added a name to a certain mental list. "When he hung up I thought about it, and I couldn't come up with a reason. I put you through so much! You should hate me!" This tale was recounted into Sebastian's shirt and was still accompanied by a heavy Irish lilt.

"I get close to you because I want to; Because no one else can. I stay for the excitement that comes with knowing you. You show me new things, Jim. And I appreciate that." Sebastian was ready to gag at his own sappy confessions, but Jim's sniffling was slowing.

"You promise you want to be here?"

"Promise."

"And you're sure you still like me."

Sebastian paused. If it were anyone else, he might have boomeranged back with a "like you? I love you." But not Jim. Never that real with Jim.

"I will always like you, Boss."

"Then I will always keep you, Tiger." Jim's grip tightened once again.

* * *

**Sorry about the delayed update. I feel like a terrible person. *hangs head* **

**But on a lighter note, I'm thinking next update will be a bloodbath!**

**Also, I was wondering if anyone has preferred actors for Moran. Personally, I like Kris Marshall just because I've seen him in things with Andrew Scott, Martin Freeman, and Rupert Graves (_My Life in Film, Love Actually, _and_ Death at a Funeral,_ respectively), but lemme know what you think.**

**'Til next time!**

**Mr. Awful**


	12. Happy, Bored, Safe

**Warnings: Lots o' fluff. I figured it was about time. Some language.**

**Disclaimer: I have never owned Jim or Sebastian. They're too free-spirited.**

* * *

Happy, Bored, Safe

Soft music drifted throughout Sebastian Moran's flat. If his time with Jim had given him nothing else, it had certainly given him a love for classical music. Also, '70s disco beats. Jim was an odd man.

Sebastian was settling into the couch after a long day working. He had just finished tying up some loose ends on a rather uninteresting job. He was glad he had a little time off, though Jim's boredom would soon force him back into the field.

His short relaxation time was ended abruptly with the sound of creaking floor-boards. They were barely audible over the Bach coming from a radio in the front hall. Sebastian's flat was on the top floor of his building – his years sniping imprinted an affinity for high places – and he was the only tenant on that level. He grabbed the Walther P99 pistol he kept stashed by his hip and jumped stealthily off of the couch. He paused by the wall of his sitting room, listening for further sounds of intrusion. Sure enough, he could hear someone closing the front door to the apartment and walking into the foyer.

He whipped around the corner and pointed the handgun at the door, arm straight and aim steady. However, he was greeted not by a vicious robber, but by a rather sheepish Jim. Seb's boss was setting his keys on a table by the door, one hand raised in surrender. Sebastian expelled the breath he had been holding and let his gun arm drop down. "Jim," he said, a little exasperated, "Fuck me, I almost shot you."

"Watch your language, Seb," Jim tutted. He brushed past the gun-toting man and into the sitting room. "Do you mind if I come in?" Sebastian shook his head at the rhetorical request and switched off the radio. He wasn't necessarily _unhappy_ to see his boss, he had just hoped for a little more time to unwind.

When he walked back to the living area, Jim was sitting on the couch, brushing imaginary dirt off of the no-doubt expensive shirt he was wearing. "I rather liked that piece," he stated, without looking at Sebastian. "Bach's Brandenberg concertos." He looked up with a warm smile. "Pretty." He scooted a little closer to the arm of the couch, a sign that Sebastian should join him.

Sebastian took his place next to Jim on the sofa, waiting for an explanation. The ensuing silence was a little too awkward for Seb's taste, and he couldn't help breaking it. "So. What's going on?" he asked, a little wary of possible answers. Jim took a second to look at Sebastian like he had just uttered the world's most desperate pick-up line.

"Do I need a reason to come see my favorite assassin?" he asked innocently.

"I'm only your favorite because I'm not afraid to tell you when you're being a twat. Like now, for instance."

"And the reason you're not afraid is because you know I won't flay you. Why? Because you're my favorite," Jim reasoned. Seb smiled at his boss's deductive reasoning. "Anyway, I'm asking honestly now. Do I need a reason?"

"I suppose not," Sebastian supplied. Jim gave him another sweet smile.

"Good," he said, shifting so that his head rested on Sebastian's left shoulder. "I don't really feel like trying to think of some boring excuse."

Sebastian was a little surprised by Jim's actions. As far as he could tell, Jim didn't have some ultimate plan he was enacting. There was no apparent ulterior motive. Seb felt Jim move his head to a more comfortable position, his hair tickling Seb's neck.

"Sebastian?" Jim inquired.

"Hmm?"

"Can we watch a movie?"

"Sure thing, boss." Jim smiled and moved one arm to wrap around Sebastian's waist. His other hand reached for Seb's right hand, hugging him. Sebastian let the arm not being held by Jim fall across the smaller man's shoulders. He pulled Jim in closer and broke their hand-holding for a second to grab the television remote. "What do you want to watch?" he asked softly.

"I don't care," Jim yawned. "I'm tired." Sebastian agreed by letting his jaw line brush the top of Jim's head. He clicked on the television and put on a B-horror movie that he knew Jim liked. Sebastian felt the arms around him tighten as a sign of approval.

They watched the movie while having light conversation. It was really rare for Jim to act like this. Seb liked him being affectionate. Not as much as he liked the ecstatic, killing-spree-loving Moriarty, but it was still nice. Seb's fingers drifted through Jim's hair while they talked and watched the slasher film. Before the movie ended, Sebastian heard his boss's breathing slow. Sleeping was difficult for Jim and it made Sebastian genuinely happy to hear soft snuffling coming from the exhausted man on his shoulder. He rested his head on top of Jim's and, after a while, joined him in sleep.

* * *

**I wasn't even going to post today, but the comments on this and my other fics were so encouraging! Hope you enjoyed my Valentiney fluff. I love you all. Mwah.**


	13. Angry, Bored, Dangerous

**Warnings: Violence, Language, an incy bit of sexual content**

**Disclaimer****: I don't own these characters and, frankly, I don't plan to.**

* * *

Angry, Bored, Dangerous

"Sebastian, we're going out."

The weary sniper set his work bag down. "Jim? How long have you been waiting?"

"I don't know. You shouldn't care. We're going out now." Jim pushed past Sebastian and reopened the front door. He seemed listless.

"Look, I came home to relax. It's been a rough day, thanks to you, and I just want to have a sit-down evening." Sebastian made for the couch. Suddenly a pain spread across the back of his head. He turned to see Jim barefoot and fuming. He had one shoe in his hand and the other was on the floor a few feet away.

"Sebastian. We're leaving now. Let's go."

"Did you throw a shoe at me?"

"I said, let's go."

Jim's toddler-like temper never failed to surprise Sebastian. It was just so extraordinary to have someone holding their breath and stamping their feet one second and shooting you the next.

However, Seb wasn't really in the mood to get shot. He retrieved the tossed shoe and handed it back to its owner. Jim snatched it away and set about getting it back on his foot. When he was finished he clicked his fingers and stepped out the door. Sebastian followed closely but warily.

The walk down to the street was a quiet one. Sebastian could almost see the machinations forming in Jim's head. While they trotted down the street - Jim pacing furiously with quick steps and Sebastian matching easily with long strides - Seb began to worry about their destination.

"Ah, Boss?" he chanced.

"Now is not an appropriate time," Jim snapped angrily, staring straight ahead.

Sebastian fell silent and kept moving.

About a minute later Jim growled, "Alright, what?"

Sebastian stared at his employer but received no eye-contact. "I was just wondering if you might let me know where we're going."

"No, that is unlikely."

"Alright."

Jim stopped suddenly and Sebastian stuttered to not pass him. The psychopath seemed to search for words before staring with a defiant rage at his sniper. "Do you know why we're here?" he hissed, nearly dripping danger.

Sebastian looked around. They were on a quiet street with a few flats and a flower shop. He chose his words carefully. "I'm not sure, sir. Is this for a job?"

Jim, if possible, seemed more furious. "A...a job? Why are you calling me 'Sir,' Sebastian? Are you afraid of me?"

Sebastian tried his best to relax. He forced himself to stop being tense, but he doubted it would fool Jim. "'Course not, Jim."

Jim didn't seem to cool off any. He began marching toward the florist's shop. Sebastian jumped into gear and followed quickly.

When the store's door was pushed open, a little bell tinkled. A voice from somewhere behind towering glass display cases filled with flowers called out, "I'll just be a minute!"

"Is this some kind of front?" Sebastian asked quietly, scanning roses and lilies with his eyes.

Jim looked at him, still steaming. "No. It's a fucking florist. Try to keep up."

"Then what are we doing here?"

"You forgot." It was said simply, as these would be enough to bring understanding to light.

"Forgot?"

Jim planted one accusing finger on Sebastian's chest. "My birthday, Sebastian. You forgot."

Sebastian's mind immediately went into hyperdrive. Jim's birthday, three months ago...they went clubbing, they had a nice night out, they had a wonderful shag, Sebastian brought him jar of kneecaps. It was a nice day. "I didn't miss it."

"Not this year!" Jim shouted frantically.

"What?"

At this juncture, a plump man appeared from behind one of the cases. He had a bristly mustache and little round glasses pinched to the bridge of his nose. He reminded Sebastian of his grandfather. He reminded Sebastian of everyone's grandfather.

"I'm sorry. Are you having a spat?" he asked thoughtfully.

A broken, emotionless grin spread on Jim's face. To the untrained, it might have seemed a normal smile. "Yes we are," he sang, his anger brewing beneath the surface. "My companion has forgotten my birthday. He's just offered to buy me some flowers as repentance."

The man smiled. "We'll that's nice. A late celebration is better than none at all." Jim's smile flickered, but the man continued without noticing. "D'you have an idea what you're looking for?"

Jim glanced around quickly and finally pointed to a potted orchid on a top shelf. "I'd love to see that one. Isn't it nice, darling."

Sebastian found his blood running cold at the tone underlying these words. He forced a weak nod and an even weaker smile.

"I'll just grab a ladder from the back then, and fetch it for you," the kind man said beaming.

As soon as he trotted off into the depths of the glass jungle, Jim's smile fell away. He was scowling now.

Sebastian stared warily at the smaller man. "Jim, I-"

"Shut up."

Sebastian decided to brave going for an explanation. "Look, you know I didn't forget anything. What's this about?"

Jim turned to face him slowly. An indignant anger was twisting his features. "You don't even know." His arms went rigid at his sides. "You missed my birthday entirely, Sebastian. Seven years ago, you just skipped over it like it was fucking nothing. What does that say about me?"

"But-"

"I'm sick of your excuses! This is not how I'm meant to be treated!"

The florist came back with a tall stepladder. "I'm sorry to get in the middle of your quarrel again, boys," he said with a sad smile. "I do hate to see people fighting."

"I think we'll be alright," Jim assured, his masking smile having returned to his face. Sebastian tried matching the phoney expression, but his pretty sure it came out as a grimace.

As the man placed his step stool down and began climbing, Sebastian leaned toward his boss. "Jim," he whispered. "If I met you a little less than three years ago, how could I have missed your birthday four years before that?"

"Well it's hardly my fault you weren't there," Jim bit. He was still tense with rage.

The shopkeeper turned toward the men on the ground from his high stand. "Are these the ones you liked?" he asked, gesturing toward the orchid.

"Those precisely," Jim replied.

The florist grabbed the pot and began to step down. Sebastian was watching with a non-committal gaze, trying to think how to deal with the insanity that was his employer when he saw Jim flinch next to him.

The man with the flower didn't see it. He didn't see the gun from Jim's pocket find its way to his grasp. He didn't see Jim take a microsecond to aim. He didn't see Jim's "no dirty work" hand clench on the grip. But Sebastian was sure he felt the bullet. Even a shot like Jim's left a moment of clear pain before death.

After the suppressor-muffled shot ended, Jim hissed, "Catch, Sebastian."

As the now faceless man began to fall, the sniper made the decision that his boss wasn't interested in protecting a corpse. He rushed instead for the flowerpot and thanked his reflexes for a lucky catch. The body collided with the ground, and Sebastian heard the _tink _of the florist's glasses clattering on the floor.

"Sebastian," Jim said, staring at the florist with half-lidded eyes. "Nice save. Do you understand now that forgetting is not an option?"

Sebastian shifted the pot around in his grip. "I wasn't even there. I didn't forget."

Jim pretended not to hear him. "You are not forgiven. Let's go home, where you can apologize more appropriately." Jim paused. "Mind out of the gutter," he ordered.

Sebastian knew he'd have hell to pay when they got home. He looked at the flower in his hands. With the blood spatter that now decorated it, it actually looked nicer than before.

* * *

**Aw, Seb. That's what you get for working for a crazy person. **

**On a side note, I finished watching Andrew Scott in _The Town_ last night. It is such an amazing conclusion to a really great show that I kind of wanted to die. I recommend, highly.**

**Anyway, see y'all in a little bit. I'll get to work writing right now :D**


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